


Three Words

by KLStarre



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied abuse, M/M, Pre-Canon, the war - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLStarre/pseuds/KLStarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the truth is hard to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildeisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildeisms/gifts).



> Happy birthday, you nerd.

            The first time Saracen Rue had told Dexter Vex that he loved him, it was just after winning their first major battle as Dead Men. They were lying together under the stars, their sides touching just enough for him to feel the other man tense as he said it. Dexter had extricated his hand from Saracen’s, not saying a word, but not moving, either, and Saracen had accepted it as philosophically as he was able.

            The second time had been nearly fifty years later, after they had lost Larrikin. They were walking through the snow, and Dexter was trying to use it to hide the tears. Saracen had hoped that half a century would convince Dexter that he meant it. But all he had gotten in response was a short bark of a laugh and a “No you don’t” before Dexter walked away, disappearing into the mist and leaving Saracen alone to lean against a wall and try to stop himself from crying.

            Forty years later, a week or two after Skulduggery’s body had been burned, he says it again as they lie on their stomachs in a muddy trench in the pouring rain, waiting for a signal. Dexter looks at him, anger and pain in his eyes and resignation in his voice. “Why? Why do you keep saying that? What is there about me that someone like you could possibly love?”

            And Saracen honestly doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to put into words how just being with Dexter made him feel safer, how no one had ever been able to make him laugh as easily. So by the time he has opened his mouth to respond, Dexter has looked away.

            “It’s okay,” he says in a voice that says it is very much not. “I’m used to it.”

            Saracen grabs the taller man’s shoulders, turning him so that they’re eye to eye, trying to keep his voice down so that the enemy doesn’t hear him from their positions five feet away. “Look at me,” Saracen says, his voice a harsh whisper as Dexter’s eyes focus on a distant point over his left shoulder. “Please. Look at me for real. I don’t know who told you this, and I don’t know why you would listen to someone who was so obviously wrong, but I _do_ love you. I love your laugh and your voice and the way you hum when you think no one’s listening and how completely protective you are of everyone that you care about. And if I have to spend the next fifty years hunting down whoever told you that you were worthless, than, so help me, _that is what I will do.”_

            Dexter shakes his head. “No need,” he says, and for a moment Saracen thinks that that’s going to be the end of it, that the walls are still up and he had been more honest than he’s been in decades for no reason but then Dexter takes a breath like he’s going to start speaking and the shouts and explosions of war fade to the background as they meet eyes once more. “It was my father. I killed him myself,” he says, and then looks away.

            There’s a sharp whistle from twenty feet away-the signal and then there’s an explosion, closer to them than anything else has been and the ground shakes and there’s dirt in their face and the acrid smell of smoke fills the air and god, what if Dexter is hurt what if what if what if but then everything settles and Dexter is still there, right next to him, their sides pressed together. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he says, not-quite-yelling because there are gunshots and grenades and someone’s just set something on fire and at this point it probably doesn’t matter if someone hears them.

            “What do you want me to say?” Saracen asks, standing up and offering Dexter a hand before another volley echoes overhead and he drops with a speed incongruous to his size, landing face down in the dirt.

            “I don’t know, something about how I’m a terrible person for murdering my own father?”

            There’s another lull in the fighting and they’re prepared for it now, so they jump up together, moving in tandem to swing their guns from their backs to their hands and scan the area for cover. Dexter spots a crumbling wall that was probably originally part of the fortress that they’re trying to take but has long since fallen into disarray, and he points and yells over the mayhem, his voice raw. They cover each other as they run, Saracen navigating the minefields and traps and bombs and grenades and Dexter using his magic and his pistol to take out the nameless enemy.

            When they reach the wall, Saracen has broken a light sweat, and Dexter goes to mock him when another explosion lights up the sky and they have to duck. “Where do you think the others are?” Saracen asks, louder than he intends; his hearing is shot.

            But Dexter shakes his head. “Oh, no. You’re not changing the subject that easily. Don’t you have anything to say about me murdering my own goddamn father?”

            “Not really. I’m sure he deserved it,” Saracen says, smiling that smile that Dexter can’t decide if he loves or hates. “Now come on, there’s a war happening. Are you just going to stand there?”

            For a moment, Dexter can’t tell if he’s being mocked. But then he nods, and smiles back. “You’re right. He did. Let’s do this.”

           


End file.
